


overthrow yourself to me

by DFP



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Shuuichi likes Seiji an awful lot but Seiji is too bonked out on painkillers to notice, oops! all smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26214523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DFP/pseuds/DFP
Summary: “Seiji,” Shuuichi says, steady in the dark, “You don’t want to hurt me,”“Don’t I?” Seiji replies, his voice a rasp.Shuuichi brings Seiji’s hands to his mouth, brushes his lips across the tips of his fingers. It doesn’t completely disguise the look on his face.
Relationships: Matoba Seiji/Natori Shuuichi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	overthrow yourself to me

Seiji walks the garden at night, the moon veiled by clouds, casting an uncertain haze of silver light over everything. It’s early spring, the trees mostly barren branches, the ground muddy from just-melted snow. He has his parasol in hand, painted to confuse, but he isn’t thinking about it. Bare hands, bare feet, bare face—he stares at the woman with both eyes.

A beautiful woman with long, trailing black hair. A beautiful woman with a cold, cruel smile. A bastardization of someone he loved. It should’ve made him angry, and it did, but he also let it get close, so he could look upon a face so familiar and yet so alien.

It was stupid. _“You were lonely.”_ He was _weak_.

When the youkai manages to wound him, nearly ruining his eye in the process, Seiji remembers thinking, clear as day, _I deserve this_.

-

Fourteen stitches and a blood transfusion later, Seiji wakes in a large bed alone. The Matoba house rambles outwards around his room, halls echoing with the soft scurry of servants and shiki, his head filled with a vague buzzing sound.

Nanase looks after him those first few days—or he thinks it’s days, time bends through the lens of the painkillers—which means she conducts clan business, as his proxy, by his bed while he sleeps. It’s far from sustainable, but Seiji is completely unprepared for her solution.

What Seiji is almost certain is the third day dawns bright and sunny. In the early hours, the sunlight is still a meek, buttery yellow, sending cautious fingers through the window. It’s enough to force his good eye into a squint. He’s just taken his obligatory half-dozen pills when there’s a faint knock at the door a second before it slides violently open.

A lean, fluffy-haired blond strides through, prudently closing the door behind him. He smiles in such a way that makes Seiji grind his teeth. 

The pain brewing behind his eyes explodes into a full-blown headache.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Seiji asks, as tartly as is possible through the bandages.

“Why, I’ve come to comfort you in your convalescence,” Shuuichi replies. His tone is easy but there’s something strange about his expression. He’s wearing a light collared shirt, unbuttoned too low, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a book tucked under one arm. His hair is shorter than Seiji remembers it.

“Leave,” Seiji grits out. Shuuichi settles into the chair by the bed with an exaggerated sigh.

“Nanase-san asked me to look after you while she’s out, and she’s actually quite frightening so…” he kicks one leg over the other and makes a show of settling in. He smells of woodsmoke and something sweet, like citrus. Seiji’s mouth waters, the tang of blood sharp on his tongue.

Shuuichi peers at him with that strange expression—Seiji is sure with both eyes uncovered he’d be able to decipher it, but the entire right side of his face is mummified in gauze. For a moment Shuuichi looks pained, and then he says, inanely,

“I thought you’d be high as a kite off the painkillers,”

“I have never been more sober,” Seiji says, though he’s not sure that’s the truth. The room swims woozily around him. Shuuichi grins, charmingly, and the pain spikes behind both of Seiji’s eyes.

“Well, that works out, I’ve got an important audition coming up,” Shuuichi flaps the book in hand at Seiji, who, now that it’s close enough, can see that it’s actually a script, “You can help me with the line reads,”

Seiji bares his teeth, showing off all the blood pooled in his mouth.

“Neat,” Shuuichi says, blithely, then begins to read his script aloud.

Within minutes Seiji falls into a deep, black sleep.

-

_Something horrible is about to happen._

_He’s standing in an empty hallway. At first it looks like his old high school but then, at second glance, there are no doors, no windows. Just a flat, grey blandness in a flat, straight line._

_Something horrible is coming, but there’s no point in running—it’s going to come from inside him._

_He lays down, flat on his back on the linoleum, and waits for it to happen._

Shuuichi finds him in the north garden, doubled up in agony in the middle of the walkway. Pain thunders in his face, in his skull, leaks down his neck. Pre-dawn light spills weakly over the walls, makes mangled shadows out of the meek spring plants.

“How did you find me?” Seiji demands, nervous and annoyed. He can’t remember if he was trying to find someone or trying to escape someone.

“Just had to follow the trail of blood, didn’t I?” Shuuichi mutters, dryly. In the early morning gloom he glows golden, like a miniature sun. He crouches down to Seiji’s level, his eyes darting across Seiji’s face.

“Why are you here?” Seiji asks, squinting at him. There’s something wrong with his vision—some grey blurring around the edges. Shuuichi glows at him as if from behind smeary glass.

Shuuichi says mildly, “To keep you company while you convalesce,”

“Convalescing isn’t really my style,” Seiji says. It’s an effort to say the word right, _con-va-les-cing_ , as though his mouth were full of rocks, but it feels very important that he does. Shuuichi sort of smiles, a sad crinkling of his eyes and soft uptick of one corner of his mouth,

“Well, then lurking around ‘til you’re well enough to send me away,”

Shuuichi helps him get to his feet. Seiji feels oddly light, disconnected from the ground beneath his feet. Pain radiates through his whole body though he knows, he _knows_ , that only his face is injured. His skin feels stretched thin and tight over bones that ache in his arms, in his legs.

Seiji sways and Shuuichi steadies him with a tight grip to his arms, his eyes widening, startled. The world spins dizzily around him but Shuuichi stays solid, stays real.

Seiji tips his face towards him and their mouths collide—clumsily at first, their teeth knocking, then they both tilt their chins and slot into place.

Shuuichi’s lips are warm and gentle against him. He moves a hand from Seiji’s arm to his jaw, cradling him steady. Seiji feels woozy, strangely hot and cold, knots one hand into the front of Shuuichi’s shirt to hold him close.

When Shuuichi pulls away his entire mouth and chin are smeared with blood. Seiji blinks rapidly, half-expecting the blood to vanish.

“I’ve made a mess of you,” he says, vaguely. Shuuichi doesn’t even touch a hand to his face.

“S’alright,” he hitches one of Seiji’s arms around his shoulders and wraps his own around Seiji’s waist. Like a three-legged monster they make their way back to Seiji’s sickroom, his heartbeat thundering in his chest, in the four torn stitches in his face.

-

Seiji is effectively bed-bound for four weeks. Shuuichi comes and goes, following no calendar Seiji knows, but when he’s there he sleeps in his bed. Nanase, just as when she caught them fooling around as teens, kindly doesn’t say anything.

Shuuichi reads his script out loud, whether or not Seiji is conscious, and cajoles Seiji into eating even when his teeth feel loose and jangly in his mouth. Seiji has him run meaningless errands, fetching random papers from throughout the grounds, bringing him fruit that he refuses to eat. Shuuichi acquiesces with good humour, rolling his eyes when he thinks Seiji is looking the other way.

A week after Shuuichi finds him crawling around in the garden Seiji wakes thrashing. He kicks out with his legs, gouges with his fingers, wrestling some nightmare or memory until warm hands close around his wrists. The heat is so startling it makes him pause.

“Seiji,” Shuuichi says, steady in the dark, “You don’t want to hurt me,”

Seiji’s eyes focus on Shuuichi’s face, pale under the full moon. His hair sticks straight up from his forehead, a thick crease from the pillow pressed to his cheek like a benediction. His heart lurches.

“Don’t I?” Seiji replies, his voice a rasp.

Shuuichi brings Seiji’s hands to his mouth, brushes his lips across the tips of his fingers. It doesn’t completely disguise the look on his face.

Nanase prepares the charmed eyepatch for Seiji to wear once the pile of gauze on his face has shrunk to a more manageable size. She used to do the same for his mother. It feels too-heavy on his face. He refuses to check his reflection.

Shuuichi follows the line of the paper across his face with his fingers, tracing the same path Seiji used to draw down his mother’s face.

Around and around it goes.

-

The final bandages come off during his last week of bedrest. Around the same time a large, full-length mirror is wheeled in. Seiji pointedly ignores it.

Shuuichi is there when the doctor does her final assessment, reducing the dosage of all Seiji’s medications, leaving his face unprotected save a daily antibacterial salve. And the spelled eyepatch.

Shuuichi watches curiously but doesn’t say anything. Seiji doesn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed.

That night Shuuichi is away, where Seiji doesn’t know; he never offers, and Seiji never asks. The nighttime air is thick with the humid spell of fresh earth, the light touch of a spring rain urging new growth in the gardens outside. Seiji stands in front of the large mirror and takes off the eyepatch.

In the dim light the snarl of tissue around his eye seems impossible—like some creature has crawled under his skin, made its home in his body.

It’s a symbol of his commitment to the clan, it’s a badge of honour. It’s hereditary glory. 

It’s also his face.

-

“Take off your clothes,” Seiji says, in greeting, the following day. Shuuichi stands just inside the door and stares at him with that satisfyingly blank, shocked look he had whenever he was overwhelmingly aroused. He transforms it, with effort, into a mild smile.

“Are you sure you’re well enough to—well—" Shuuichi makes a vague, awkward gesture. Seiji regards him coolly from the throne of his sick bed.

“Shuuichi,” he says, “I am going to fuck you,”

Shuuichi’s face goes blank, almost as if Seiji has struck him. His mouth works silently for a moment, then he hurriedly unbuttons his shirt and tosses it aside. He’s down to his boxer-briefs before he recovers his voice, and still all he manages to say is,

“Okay,” in a dry, rasping voice.

Over the last weeks the reduced bandages, the sharp decrease in painkiller dosage, gave them the opportunity to kiss and touch, but nothing more than a teenaged kind of exploration over clothes. Shuuichi would beg off whenever he spied the faintest pinprick of blood on Seiji’s bandages.

Seiji is technically still on bed rest but he’s out of his mind after weeks of teasing. And anyway, he’s still in bed, isn’t he?

Shuuichi crawls on top of him and together they untangle the blankets, Seiji’s robe, and at last press their naked bodies together. Seiji sighs in contentment and then kisses Shuuichi, slowly, thoroughly, running his hands over every inch of skin he can reach.

Pressed together like that, Seiji’s body comes alive. Heat thunders in his veins, his skin warm and tingly. It would be an exaggeration to say it is the first time he’s felt pleasure since his injury, but it is the first time it has been enough to drown out the lingering pains in his face and eye.

When Shuuichi leans back Seiji’s hands go, greedily, between them, sliding down his chest, thumbing his nipples, encircling his cock with the usual fascination. Shuuichi makes a series of soft, helpless sounds, his mouth dropping open, his eyes glassy. Seiji feels a sharp twist of desire in his navel.

Shuuichi’s hands come up and half-heartedly bat Seiji away, so he can ask,

“Will you take off the eyepatch?” The words punched out, breathlessly. Seiji feels a cold fist clench in his stomach, and scowls.

“Why? You like it?” Seiji asks, caustic. Shuuichi stares at him very carefully, then touches a hand, lightly, to his forearm.

“I don’t _like_ the scar,” he says, slowly, as his hand travels up Seiji’s arm to cup his jaw. Seiji’s heart clenches in his chest, hot with a feeling closer to pain than pleasure. He lays very, very, still as Shuuichi touches his fingers to the edge of the eyepatch, “May I?”

Seiji looks at Shuuichi, his soft lips parted so slightly, his red eyes molten, the afternoon sun lighting up his hair all golden. His reply is little more than a hiss, “Yes,”

The sunlight is enough to spring tears to his eye and he looks at Shuuichi with vision blurred, uneven. Shuuichi looks at him with curiousity, but only for a moment before he closes the differences and covers Seiji’s mouth with his own.

Shuuichi pets down his sides, fingers trailing in long strands of Seiji’s hair caught between them. He licks down his throat, fingers finding the perfect space to settle on his hipbones, his body moving against his warm, soft, greedy. 

“Have you got—?” Shuuichi asks. Seiji reaches over to the bedside table and yanks open the drawer. The front half is a maze of several pill bottles and gauze, but he shoves that all aside to reveal a tidy array of condoms and lube. Shuuichi barks out a laugh as Seiji grabs a tube and shoves it into Shuuichi’s hand.

“Prep yourself,” Seiji says. Shuuichi gives him a look, which Seiji returns with a smirk, “I’m not supposed to exert myself,”

Shuuichi rolls his eyes, “Probably shouldn’t be fucking, then,”

“That’s why you’re going to do all the work,” he says, primly.

“Oh, is _that_ why?” Shuuichi grumbles, but he’s slicking up his hand as he does. He scoots up Seiji’s hips and arches his back, twisting his hand, shiny with lube, behind. Seiji’s hands rush greedily up his thighs, his eyes ricocheting urgently between the hazy look on Shuuichi’s face and where his hand disappears between his own legs.

Shuuichi hisses and shifts, biting down on his bottom lip in concentration. It’s a delicious agony, wanting to see, wanting to touch, but not letting himself. He can see a muscle throb in Shuuichi’s jaw as he grits his teeth, breath huffing fast out his nose. Seiji makes a questioning sound, pinches his side.

“It’s—it’s been awhile, okay?” Shuuichi says, blushing furiously. Seiji raises a brow at him,

“How long?”

“I don’t know—when was the last time we did it like this?” Shuuichi asks, fucking back onto his own hand. Seiji hastily chokes down a groan at the sight.

“The day of my graduation ceremony,” he replies, hoarsely.

“Oh yeah,” Shuuichi goes glassy-eyed and Seiji can’t tell if it’s from the memory or because he’s stuffed another finger inside himself, “That was nice. You looked so hot in your suit. I was walking bow-legged for days,”

Seiji watches him, speechless. He knows better than to assume Shuuichi has kept a candle burning for him the past few years. What with his career and his preternatural good looks only the truly delusional would believe him to be faithful. But to be the only one who’s fucked him, been inside him—Seiji’s heart thunders in his chest and in his throat.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Shuuichi says, eventually. Seiji half-sits, slides a hand around his hip,

“Let me feel,” he says, trying to squash the eagerness from his voice. Shuuichi just blushes and guides Seiji’s fingers to where he’s wet and loose. Seiji easily stuffs three fingers inside him, scissors them curiously in that tight heat as Shuuichi grinds down into him.

“Oh,” Seiji gasps, “Shuuichi,”

Shuuichi groans, “Okay I need your cock now, I’m not gonna—oh, _Seiji_ ,”

Seiji removes his hand, grips Shuuichi by the hips as they resettle, Shuuichi a scramble of limbs made clumsy by arousal, and then finally, finally, he sinks down onto Seiji’s cock. He’s unbelievably tight—Seiji grunts and Shuuichi wheezes and they tip towards each other, nearly knocking heads.

They both gasp for air as Seiji bottoms out. He stares blearily up at Shuuichi as he tries to wrest control over his body. This is the point where Shuuichi usually says something inane like _you good?_ or even just, _okay?_ Seiji isn’t about to do the same. Anyway, Shuuichi looks awfully good to him.

Shuuichi begins to move, a slow shift of his hips, that nonetheless is a beautiful, toe-curling torture to Seiji. For a short while it’s only their gasping breaths, the slap of skin, the occasional shocked groan as Shuuichi finds his pace. 

“Seiji you feel amazing, your _cock_ ,” Shuuichi gasps, grinding down onto him, “God, I love it, could do this for hours,”

“Shuuichi,” Seiji says, warningly, his hips shifting up to meet Shuuichi’s downwards thrust.

“What? We can go again, right?” Shuuichi says, half-laughing, “When you’re better want you to fuck me—want you to ruin me,”

“I will,” Seiji grits out, clutching mindlessly to Shuuichi’s rolling hips, “I’ll make sure you feel me for a week,”

Shuuichi takes a big, gulping breath, “‘s a promise, then,”

Seiji plants his feet on the bed to thrust hard up into him, punching a shocked moan from Shuuichi’s open mouth.

“Do that again,” Shuuichi gasps, arching backwards. Seiji obliges and Shuuichi makes an ungodly sound, “ _Seiji_ , you feel so good, fuck, love the feel of your cock inside me,”

“I’m close,” Seiji gasps.

“Yes, shit, make a mess of me, please, wanna—”

Seiji’s orgasm hits him like a truck. His ears fill with a dull roaring that blocks out, at last, Shuuichi’s filthy mouth, as a hot clench in his navel loosens explosively and stars dance against the backs of his eyelids. His hands clench around Shuuichi’s hips, yank him down so he can bury his cock deep inside him.

When Seiji blinks his eyes open a moment later Shuuichi is panting above him, his hand around his own cock, a splatter of cum on Seiji’s stomach. Shuuichi slumps forward, nestles his face into Seiji’s left shoulder. Seiji’s cock slips only partially out of him.

“Shuuichi,” Seiji says, sternly. Shuuichi snuffles into Seiji’s hair, his right hand petting clumsily down Seiji’s side.

“Yeah I’ll clean up just—not yet,” he mumbles. Seiji touches a hand to the back of his neck, runs his fingers down his spine until he touches Shuuichi’s puffy rim, where they connect. Shuuichi huffs a soft sound into the sensitive skin of Seiji’s neck.

Seiji stares up at the ceiling. The sun’s most of the way down, now. The right side of his face throbs, faintly, in tune with his heart. Sweat pools where they’re plastered together, sticky with semen.

A feeling suspiciously close to happiness blooms between his ribs. Seiji keeps it to himself.

-

The inflamed tissue around his eye has mostly gone down, settling into cold, white twists much like the roots of a tree. In the dead of winter, in the right light, the colour might be indistinguishable from Seiji’s skin tone.

He tries smiling at his reflection. The effect is macabre.

The main vein of scar tissue traces a path along the inside line of his eye, beginning at his brow and following a tangled line below the socket, around to his cheekbone, then feathering out across to his ear. It doesn’t really go anywhere near his mouth, and yet, the flex of his cheeks distorts the hardened tissue into a grimace. 

Well, fine.

Seiji seals his eye back behind the patch and gives his reflection a final glance—a smudge of pale skin, white paper, stark black ink to match the hair. It’ll do.

He doesn’t have much need for smiling, anyway.

-

Shuuichi leans in close, his eyes sharp, hungry, in the dark and slips the yukata from Seiji’s shoulders. The fabric pools at the crook of his bent arms, revealing most of his bare chest. Seiji’s breath catches in his throat. They’re the same height, a fact Seiji still takes a childish pleasure in since he lagged behind when they were in school, but sometimes Shuuichi’s presence looms unnaturally large.

Seiji doesn’t know where he’s been the last two weeks. His hair is styled off his face, highlighting his strong brows, the hard line of his jaw. He smells of cologne and booze and, faintly, the sharp tang of metal, or blood.

He showed up at the front gate, a quarter to ten, and was ushered in by a vaguely amused Nanase. He thought at first Shuuichi was drunk, but the glassy look in his eyes quickly solidified into a familiar punch-drunk lust. Seiji brought him up to the sick room, though he hasn’t slept there in weeks, because his personal quarters are a riot of paperwork he doesn’t want to crumple.

Shuuichi is wearing an expensive suit, the shirt crisp white, his tie a thin, shimmery grey line down his chest. In the corner of the room the large mirror reflects them both as smears of black in the dark. Seiji has never so badly wanted to ruin something as this godforsaken suit.

He cups Seiji’s jaw in one hand and tips their mouths together in a slow, gentle kiss that sends a shiver across Seiji’s skin. He walks them backwards, until the bed presses to the backs of Seiji’s knees. There, Seiji spins them around, shoves Shuuichi so he sits down on the edge of the bed, breaking the kiss.

He looks up at Seiji, red eyes glassy, lips swollen and spit-slicked. Seiji starts undoing Shuuichi’s jacket at the same moment that he goes to undo his own pants, shocking a breathy laugh from him.

“Seiji,” Shuuichi says, shrugging out of his jacket, putting his hands to Seiji’s face as he finishes Shuuichi’s job with his pants, “You look good,”

Seiji cocks a brow at him as he drags Shuuichi’s pants off, realizing, belatedly, that the expression is ruined by the eyepatch.

“I’ve been well,” Seiji says, neutrally. Shuuichi smiles up at him, perched on his bed in only a starched dress shirt, long black socks.

“C’mere,” he pulls Seiji in between his parted thighs, runs his hands up his sides. “Lube’s in the same place?”

Seiji snorts, petting one hand absently through his blond hair, crusted lightly with hairspray. “Of course,”

Shuuichi tips his chin up and Seiji descends obligingly to kiss him. Shuuichi’s mouth is as soft as his hands are demanding, slipping off his yukata, exploring his body slowly, his warm hands hot as a brand against cold skin. Shuuichi touches the eyepatch, questioningly, before unfastening it, setting it aside carefully, soothing him with gentle kisses to ease the way forward. Fire begins to pool below Seiji’s navel, wraps his limbs in syrup-slow heat, makes his hands greedy to touch, his lips greedy to taste.

Seiji scrambles Shuuichi’s shirt off, presses them together, skin hot and soft, sweat pooling from their heat. “Mm, the socks too,” Shuuichi says, lips pressed to Seiji’s clavicle. Seiji rolls his eyes, unseen.

Before long, Shuuichi pulls Seiji onto his lap, a tangle of limbs, and presses a slick finger inside him. Seiji whines—it’s been too long, more sting than pleasure. Shuuichi rubs circles into the base of his spine, kisses a trail down his neck, while Seiji gasps and squirms in his lap.

“Okay?” Shuuichi asks, hushed. Seiji grinds down onto his hand and sees stars.

“More,” he gasps. Shuuichi chuckles softly in his ear, pulls him in even closer, licks a path across his collarbone.

“Mmm, you’re tight, you gotta relax,” Shuuichi says. Seiji scowls, not that Shuuichi can see it,

“I am perfectly relaxed,” he snaps. Shuuichi responds by shoving a second finger inside him, forcing a half-strangled whine from his mouth.

They kiss sloppily, grinding impatiently together, as Shuuichi fingers him open. Seiji clumsily wraps a fist around both their cocks and Shuuichi makes a sound like he’s been struck, bucks up into his hand.

“I won’t last like this,” Shuuichi wheezes, dazedly looking up at him.

“Oh?” Seiji replies, as loftily as he can with Shuuichi’s fingers up his ass, Shuuichi’s cock pressed to his own. Shuuichi snorts, slides his hand free to grip Seiji around the waist and rolls him onto the bed.

Shuuichi maneuvers Seiji on to hands and knees, mouths over his shoulder blade as he scissors his fingers inside him. He murmurs incomprehensible things into the knobs of his spine, things Seiji is sure he wouldn’t want to hear anyway.

Seiji catches shadows at the edge of his vision and jerks his head up—but it’s no youkai or spirit, only their own reflections in the large mirror directly across from the bed. Seiji himself a smudge of white and black, Shuuichi’s blond head, tanned shoulders. Seiji grits his teeth and looks away.

“Ready?” Shuuichi asks, more gasp than words against the back of his neck. He plasters his body along Seiji’s back, grinds his cock into the cleft of his ass and Seiji grunts, jerks his hips back to press against Shuuichi.

“Get on with it,” Seiji replies, shortly. Almost before he’s finished speaking, Shuuichi is pressing into him. They both gasp, Seiji claws at the blankets under him, Shuuichi bites his shoulder blade. It’s slow going with Seiji tensed and tight, Shuuichi huffs against his back,

“You gotta relax,” his voice high and thin. Seiji presses his hips back against him, stubbornly, groaning at the press of his cock inside him, “ _Fuck_ ,” Shuuichi says, eloquently.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, Shuuichi bottoms out. He grips Seiji by the hips and holds him firm, panting as his thumbs rub circles into his skin. Seiji tries to level out his own breath, tries to relax around the fullness of Shuuichi’s cock, but then Shuuichi begins to move and his thoughts scramble. Shuuichi thrusts slow, at first, dragging his cock inside him, pushing thin gasps from Seiji’s mouth but as he speeds up, fucking him steadily, deeply, Seiji can’t help the increasingly whiney noises he makes.

Heat coils, electric in his navel, his cock hard almost to the point of pain. Each time Shuuichi hits his prostate Seiji feels sparks shoot up his spine. Shuuichi’s hands are hot and firm on his hips, his thumbs digging in above the bone. Seiji makes a particularly pathetic noise as Shuuichi snaps in deep, his cock throbbing, untouched.

Abruptly, Shuuichi kneels, yanks Seiji back onto his lap, wraps one arm around his chest and pulls him upright, so they’re plastered back to front. Shuuichi’s cock drives so deep inside him Seiji whimpers. Shuuichi keeps one arm around his waist to steady him, the other he snakes up to grip Seiji’s jaw, tilts his head down to face straight ahead.

“Look,” Shuuichi says, his voice harsh, thick with lust. Seiji cracks his eyes open, momentarily confused by the dark. Smears of shadows slowly congeal into their tangled forms, reflected back at them from the mirror. He finds Shuuichi’s rust red eyes in the mirror, something fierce, feral, in his handsome face. Shuuichi shakes Seiji’s head a little, his teeth pop, hungry, over his bottom lip, “Look at yourself,”

Seiji resists the urge to screw his eyes closed, but just barely, and grinds his teeth. His whole body flushes hot around a desperately tight winding in his core. He wants, he _wants_ —

“Shuuichi—"

“Yeah?” He whispers in reply. Seiji doesn’t imagine the smug tilt to his mouth. Shuuichi rolls his hips and the feel of his cock dragging inside him is so good—Seiji just wants him to _move_. 

Seiji meets his own gaze in the mirror. He can feel Shuuichi’s smile against his throat.

The lid of his ruined eye droops a little lower than the other. The red of his iris leaks out into the white of his eye in a teardrop of blood, lurking near the inner corner. Ropes of scar tissue twist around the socket, snake down to the hinge of his jaw, tracing the ruinous path of the youkai’s claw. Looking at it doesn’t make Seiji think of anything, feel anything. He will not flinch from his reflection.

Shuuichi releases his jaw, his hand smooths down his throat, chest, and Seiji’s eye catches on that movement, follows his hand down to encircle his cock. His body is an awkward scramble of pale limbs, legs spread, back bowed, one arm bent to grip Shuuichi’s bicep, clawing to hold himself up even with Shuuichi’s arm wrapped around his middle, a bar of strong, tanned skin. “Good,” Shuuichi murmurs and Seiji could almost roll his eyes.

He opens his mouth to snap at him but then Shuuichi strokes his cock, root to tip, and simultaneously rolls his hips again, dragging his cock inside him and Seiji says, “ _Unh_ ,”

Shuuichi smiles handsomely at him in the mirror as he strokes him, rolls his hips against him, slow and steady. It’s good but it’s not enough, a clawing, hungry need builds in Seiji, choking him. “Look at you, so pretty on my cock,” Shuuichi’s breath is hot against his ear, “So perfect for me, yeah?”

Seiji stares at him in the mirror. The lizard crawls along his jaw, hesitates a moment as if it can feel Seiji’s gaze, then scurries down his neck, out of sight. Shuuichi smiles at him, satisfied and sharp at the edge, when he fails to respond. Seiji feels a flush rush down his throat, betraying him.

“Eyes ahead,” Shuuichi hisses.

Seiji drags his eyes reluctantly back to his own pale face. Shuuichi’s grip tightens around his cock and Seiji outright moans. He fucks him with steady, slow drags, his hand tight around the base of his cock, driving Seiji right to the edge and holding him there. His gaze flits from his own eyes, to his chin, the snarl of furious scar tissue, back to his eyes. Shuuichi’s eyes stay steady on him in the mirror, flickering at the edge of his vision.

“Beautiful, Seiji, you’re beautiful,” Shuuichi rasps in his ear. Seiji whines, arching his back, desperate for _more_ , but Shuuichi holds him steady, rolling his hips almost lazily, stoking a fire in Seiji’s navel.

“Shuuichi— _please_ —” Seiji screws his eyes shut, unable to stand the look on his own face. Flushed red all down his throat, eyes dark and unfocused. _Desperate_. Shuuichi stills completely, his grip loosening, and Seiji almost sobs.

“Please what?” Shuuichi moves his hand from Seiji’s cock to pet soothingly up his stomach. Seiji shivers, uncontrollably. Shuuichi’s voice is soft with concern, his hands suddenly gentle on his body. It only makes it worse, sends a hot bolt of embarrassment shooting through Seiji’s stomach, sets his face aflame.

“I want—I need—” Seiji groans, and then snaps; “I need to _come_ ,”

Shuuichi inhales sharply, his arm tightening around Seiji’s waist, “Yeah, okay, I’ve got you,”

Unbelievably, _immorally_ , Shuuichi pulls out. Seiji can’t help the shocked, offended noise he chokes out in response. He leans Seiji forward back onto hands and knees and Seiji _does not_ crane backwards for Shuuichi’s cock but it’s a near thing. Shuuichi’s hands drift, lightly, along his hips.

“Lay back for me? Wanna see that pretty face,” Shuuichi murmurs. Seiji flops over onto his back, a bitterness bubbling up in his throat that emerges as;

“Don’t mock me,” his voice strained. On Shuuichi’s face flashes an expression close to horror and he swiftly closes the distance, kisses Seiji severely.

“Not in this,” he says, hoarsely against his mouth, “Never in this,”

Seiji meets Shuuichi’s dried-blood eyes and has to look away, afraid of what he might see. He spreads his legs and Shuuichi settles between them, leaving one last kiss on his wounded cheek.

“Just like that,” Shuuichi coos and promptly folds Seiji’s legs up, slinging one leg over his shoulder and immediately driving back into him. Seiji isn’t proud of the noise he makes.

Shuuichi wastes no time thrusting into him, finding a steady, deep pace, and fisting his hand around Seiji’s cock, stroking him in time. Seiji rocks into him, soft, unconscious _ah, ah,_ sounds escaping him. Pressure builds in his navel, hot and tight, so fast he loses his breath. Shuuichi fucks him single-mindedly, no longer teasing or murmuring praise, his eyes hot and attentive on Seiji’s face, his grip bruising on his hip.

Seiji fucks down onto his cock, up into his hand and then comes with a choked yelp. The tight winding in his core releasing in a rush of heat, muscles clenching then relaxing. Shuuichi fucks him through it, slowing to a stop as his tremors fizzle out. Seiji relaxes back onto the bed and breathes, Shuuichi watching him with an expression he has no desire to dissect.

After a moment of stillness, Seiji nudges Shuuichi in the back with his heel, “Well? Carry on,” he says.

Shuuichi looks at him with that shocked, blank look he so covets. His eyes are so blown out they look black in the dark. He opens his mouth as if to speak and seems to think better of it. He grabs one of Seiji’s hands and presses it to his mouth, his lips hot, soft, against his knuckles.

He begins to once more thrust into Seiji and drops his hand as he scrambles for a firm grip on his hips. Seiji’s body initially responds _no_ , his muscles seizing up. Shuuichi groans and fucks him faster, harder, rushing after his own pleasure.

Seiji whimpers, a tangle of pain and pleasure twisting inside him. He grits his teeth and claws Shuuichi’s back. It’s too much and somehow not enough, his over-sensitive nerves shooting off confused signals. A pressure builds in his chest, clawing up his throat into something nearly like a scream.

“Shuuichi!”

“ _Oh_ , _oh_ fu—I—" Shuuichi thrusts deeply into him, pressing their bodies close, burying his face in Seiji’s shoulder, as if to crawl inside him. “Seiji,” he says, shocked, and then again; “Seiji,”

-

Seiji lays on his stomach while Shuuichi combs through his hair, fingers gently untangling the strands. His wounded side is turned upwards, a faint throbbing from behind his eye radiates down his neck. He’s taken a painkiller and the effects are just setting in; shapes seem to fuzz out around the edges, a floaty feeling is just starting in his fingers, his toes, crawling up his limbs.

Shuuichi lays beside him, curled onto his side, head pillowed on one arm. He’s humming, faintly, what Seiji is almost certain is a toilet paper jingle. 

“Why are you still here?” Seiji asks, his words rounded out soft by the growing numbness. Shuuichi continues humming for a moment.

“Do you want me to leave?” He asks, neutrally.

“No,” Seiji lets his eyes slip closed. The feel of Shuuichi’s fingers in his hair is nice, actually. Soothing. He hasn’t slept well the past couple weeks alone in his room. The medication swims through his relaxed body, singing him to sleep, “I prefer you right here,”

Eyes closed, Seiji can’t see the look on Shuuichi’s face. But he can feel the brush of his lips on his forehead, right where the scarring starts.

“You have me,” Shuuichi says. Seiji smiles.


End file.
